But, I’ll get to that later.
Our trip to Denver for the State wrestling tournament and to celebrate The Girl’s birthday went very well-not counting the part where our first-level, ninth-row seats for the finals were inexplicably “re-located” to the third level, second row of the Pepsi center, hellooo, nosebleed section-but, I said I would get to that later so….
…the drive on Friday was gorgeous. The weather was perfect, the sunshine glinted off the moisture in the air like a million prisms and the snow that had fallen the day before glittered with the light of a field of diamonds; it was a typically beautiful Colorado day which created a nice mental image to which I clung in desperation two days later when driving home in a blizzard but, I’ll get to that later as well.
Right. So, I picked the children up at school at noon and we were in the Grand Hyatt relaxing by five o’clock which is when the Barbies arrived to join us for dinner. We picked the Hardrock Café on the Sixteenth Street Mall for dinner and I managed to polish off the better part of a ginormous plate of nachos before my stomach threatened to split open like an over-ripe melon.
Speaking of nice mental images, huh? My apologies.
After dinner, the Barbies swept the Man-Cub off for a weekend visit at the Barbie Mansion and the girls and I headed back to the hotel for a dip in the pool; an occurrence we would repeat many, many times over the course of the weekend.
Hugh, for his part, was enjoying his time as a virgin wrestling official. I have resigned myself to the notion that the grin on his face is probably permanent so I guess I will simply have to adjust to being married to Howdy Doodie. I guess I can think of worse things.
Saturday morning, the girls and I ventured back to the Mall for breakfast at the Corner Bakery.
Hugh had left us earlier in the morning but was able to break away from the tournament long enough to join us for The Girl’s birthday breakfast which delighted both girls.
Not as much as shopping at their favorite store following breakfast but, close.
And, sadly, not nearly as much as riding the escalator at the mall. We are hicks, hear us roar.
After spending damn near her entire stash of birthday money on cheap jewelry, we went back to the hotel to meet another of her friends who was being dropped off for the day while her parents attended the tournament; which worked out quite nicely.
We dined in the hotel restaurant which all three girls proclaimed “the fanciest restaurant they had ever eaten a chicken strip basket in” and then headed back to the pool for hours of splashing and shrieking at levels heard only by dolphins (and, mothers with sensitive ears).
(Speaking of sensitive ears), meanwhile, back at the Barbie Mansion, the Man-Cub was struggling with an earache caused, I think, by the pressure in his ear canal not regulating appropriately following our trip over the Divide. Luckily for him, the Barbies know how to handle the earaches and he was set up with eardrops and cotton balls in record time (note to self: cotton balls are magic), and he went on to have such a good time that we were hard-pressed to get him to leave with us on Sunday.
He did, of course; we need him for the tax deduction.
Anyhoodle, after the pool, the girls and I went upstairs for cake and, if you are asking yourself how one gets a birthday cake to Denver; this is how.
Knowing that Hugh would be sad about missing the whole birthday cake thing- despite the Howdie Doodie perma-grin-we texted him and sent along a picture of The Girl blowing out her candles. Oh, and we saved him a piece of cake; because we are generous like that.
Next, we went to the tournament which is when the day took a turn for the worse, thanks to Ticketmaster or, as I will forever refer to them; Ticketmaster-bater, who sold us a premium ticket knowing full well that the section in which we would be sitting would not exist.
Can you say fraud? Because, I can. And, I’m pretty certain that a lawyer would agree.
The moral of this story is; Ticketmaster-bater sucks schweaty balls. If you need event tickets, heed my warning.
Other than being relegated to the nosebleed section of the Pepsi Center after paying good (non refundable) money for premium seats; we had a good time watching Hugh do his thang.
Then, we went back to the hotel for a room service dinner and yet more swimming.
Sunday, we drove home, as I mentioned, in a snowstorm. It sucked.
But, not as badly as Ticketmasterbater.